I knew I was making a gamble the first time I ever set foot inside my current residence. Although it had just been "repainted,"* upon first setting foot inside the building an unusual smell that I described as a mix of stale cigarette smoke and Chinese food came at me like a smack in the face. Not being a stranger to horrible smelling places in San Francisco, I figured it was merely remnants of the previous 8+ tenants and that the place would eventually "air out" after we had moved in. I could not have been more wrong.
During the past four months that I have lived in the Brothel (as it is known amongst its inhabitants) I have experienced one of the oddest evolutions of smell that has ever existed. The Smell (which is now its own entity and requires capitalization) evolves daily, and, much like a box of chocolates (Holla, Forrest Gump!); you NEVER know what you're gonna get.
Each day before I open the door to my home I turn the key with a mix of anticipation/impending doom. It's never a question of whether or not The Smell will be there (because there is ALWAYS a smell), but whether or not the Smell will be so severe that it will make me gag as I walk up the stairs, or if it is in one of its more dormant phases and is currently being poorly masked by a scented candle or a cleaning product. And while the Smell is ALWAYS bad, the answer to the question, "WHAT is that smell?" is always different.
Some days The Smell is mold. Some days it can be described as old throw-up. I typically find myself associating The Smell with a wet dog, as its intensity tends to increase with inclement weather. No matter the form The Smell chooses to take on a particular day, it is evident that this beast is a shape-shifter the likes of which my roommates and I have never seen.
The largest problem with The Smell is that we cannot figure out where it is coming from. It seems to be most intense at the top of the stairs, but countless searches for a would-be rotting animal/piece of trash have left us puzzled, empty handed, and nearly sick to our stomachs. It appears that The Smell is inherently a part of the building, as if it were actually included in the blue print. It is entirely possible that The Smell is an integral part of the structural integrity of the building, and the entire thing would come crashing down if we ever did locate its source/secret hide out/lair. (I like to imagine that The Smell has a secret lair located somewhere underneath my staircase where it plots against me).
While one of my favorite things to do is solving mysteries and investigating strange occurrences, I have accepted that this is one case that I will just never crack. It is with this knowledge of defeat that I have come to terms with The Smell. While we will never be friends, we have learned to live together civilly...with the help of half a dozen scented candles.
*I think the landlord just opened a can of paint and threw it on the wall, coating all light switches and outlets in addition to the walls...and the carpet.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
This One Time at Whole Foods
The Whole Foods across the street from my friend Jessica's old apartment in San Francisco is one of the greatest places in the world. I love all of the food, the people are friendly, and Good God, they even sell yoga mats! Every time I walk inside I can't help but think, "Orange-cranberry vegan cous cous! This place is great!"
One time Jessica and I were standing in line waiting for our organic-vegan-vegetarian-cancer curing groceries to be scanned when I glanced up and took a good look at the man who was running the cash register. Standing at approximately six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at around 140lbs, this guy looked as if he ate about one meal a week. He was dressed entirely in black and sported a plethora of colorful tattoos, most of which featured some sort of scull. His hair was shoulder length, parted on the side, dyed black and slicked back in order to show the world what a tortured artist he really was. To complete his unique look, he had curled the ends of his mustache up to form perfect little curls pointing towards the centerline of his face. Picture the mustache that Captain Hook had in the movie "Hook" and you will have the right idea. Of course, the mustache and his fu manchu were also dyed black.
Now, I'd like to think that I am fairly open-minded. I am fine with many types of life choices including only allowing the color black to touch your body. However, I thought I was going to explode from containing my laughter once I glanced down at our cashier's name tag. The name came into my view, and I quickly had to turn my back to the guy as I regained my composure. Predictably, our cashier's shirt boldly decreed that he went by the name, PANTHER. That's right, Panther. Like a giant black cat who terrorizes the wild lands of India, Panther. Before I turned back around, I leaned over to Jess and said, "Please look at his name tag." Jessica's eyes flicked up, landed on the name tag, and she too had to spin around in order to collect herself.
As we waited in line the man in front of us dropped a roll on the floor that had been balancing on top of his pre-made dinner. Panther, ever the courteous employee, said, "Don't worry; you can go grab another one. Hey...," he motioned to me, "hand me that one on the ground. Three second rule!" I thought nothing of it and bent over, laughing out loud and thinking to myself, "Oh that Panther, he is such a kidder!" However, my humor quickly turned to confusion as he did not throw the roll away, but placed it next to his cash register for safe-keeping.
"Are you really going to eat that?" The girl bagging our groceries asked. I glanced down at the spot where the roll had landed. Although it didn't look particularly dirty, common sense told me that a person should not be eating rolls that have fallen on the ground in a grocery store check out line where foot traffic tends to be particularly high. "Of course I am!" Panther cried. "People need germs and bacteria in their bodies to survive. That's why the Japanese freak out if they get a cold. They are so concerned with germs that their bodies do not get exposed to as much bacteria as they should. When they get a cold they feel like they are dying." Jess, the girl bagging the groceries, and myself nodded, more out of puzzlement than agreement, but Panther continued, "Why do you think all of those pioneers lived into their eighties? Because they didn't worry about germs all the time!"
It was at this point that I realized that Panther had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He almost had me with the Japanese thing, but his statements about the longevity of pioneers quickly changed my opinion. As we left the store I turned to Jess and explained to her that Panther was, in fact, incorrect. The settlers of this country usually died at an early age often due to poor hygiene and a general lack of knowledge of good sanitation practices. Jess nodded in agreement and assured me that the short life of the pioneers was a commonly known fact, although it had appeared to escape the comprehension of our dear friend, Panther.
So we left Whole Foods, and didn't stick around to find out if Panther, self proclaimed germ devotee and historian, decided to eat the roll. However, we did discover that Whole Foods is an equal opportunity employer, as they do not discriminate in the hiring process against large, black predatory cats that are usually found only in Asia.
One time Jessica and I were standing in line waiting for our organic-vegan-vegetarian-cancer curing groceries to be scanned when I glanced up and took a good look at the man who was running the cash register. Standing at approximately six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at around 140lbs, this guy looked as if he ate about one meal a week. He was dressed entirely in black and sported a plethora of colorful tattoos, most of which featured some sort of scull. His hair was shoulder length, parted on the side, dyed black and slicked back in order to show the world what a tortured artist he really was. To complete his unique look, he had curled the ends of his mustache up to form perfect little curls pointing towards the centerline of his face. Picture the mustache that Captain Hook had in the movie "Hook" and you will have the right idea. Of course, the mustache and his fu manchu were also dyed black.
Now, I'd like to think that I am fairly open-minded. I am fine with many types of life choices including only allowing the color black to touch your body. However, I thought I was going to explode from containing my laughter once I glanced down at our cashier's name tag. The name came into my view, and I quickly had to turn my back to the guy as I regained my composure. Predictably, our cashier's shirt boldly decreed that he went by the name, PANTHER. That's right, Panther. Like a giant black cat who terrorizes the wild lands of India, Panther. Before I turned back around, I leaned over to Jess and said, "Please look at his name tag." Jessica's eyes flicked up, landed on the name tag, and she too had to spin around in order to collect herself.
As we waited in line the man in front of us dropped a roll on the floor that had been balancing on top of his pre-made dinner. Panther, ever the courteous employee, said, "Don't worry; you can go grab another one. Hey...," he motioned to me, "hand me that one on the ground. Three second rule!" I thought nothing of it and bent over, laughing out loud and thinking to myself, "Oh that Panther, he is such a kidder!" However, my humor quickly turned to confusion as he did not throw the roll away, but placed it next to his cash register for safe-keeping.
"Are you really going to eat that?" The girl bagging our groceries asked. I glanced down at the spot where the roll had landed. Although it didn't look particularly dirty, common sense told me that a person should not be eating rolls that have fallen on the ground in a grocery store check out line where foot traffic tends to be particularly high. "Of course I am!" Panther cried. "People need germs and bacteria in their bodies to survive. That's why the Japanese freak out if they get a cold. They are so concerned with germs that their bodies do not get exposed to as much bacteria as they should. When they get a cold they feel like they are dying." Jess, the girl bagging the groceries, and myself nodded, more out of puzzlement than agreement, but Panther continued, "Why do you think all of those pioneers lived into their eighties? Because they didn't worry about germs all the time!"
It was at this point that I realized that Panther had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He almost had me with the Japanese thing, but his statements about the longevity of pioneers quickly changed my opinion. As we left the store I turned to Jess and explained to her that Panther was, in fact, incorrect. The settlers of this country usually died at an early age often due to poor hygiene and a general lack of knowledge of good sanitation practices. Jess nodded in agreement and assured me that the short life of the pioneers was a commonly known fact, although it had appeared to escape the comprehension of our dear friend, Panther.
So we left Whole Foods, and didn't stick around to find out if Panther, self proclaimed germ devotee and historian, decided to eat the roll. However, we did discover that Whole Foods is an equal opportunity employer, as they do not discriminate in the hiring process against large, black predatory cats that are usually found only in Asia.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Colorado!
My trip to Colorado to visit my friend Rusty was INCREDIBLE! I loved absolutely every second of my trip, and I sorta wish that I could move there. Boulder is beautiful, Denver is so fun, and let's face it: Rusty is the only friend I really need.
Here are some of the highlights of the trip:
1. Being introduced to Rusty's friend Trev Mac. Trev Mac said, "Robin isn't just gorgeous...she's GOOOORGEOUS!" (high-pitched, squealing noise). I think we are soul mates.
2. Driving through the mountains of Boulder with Rusty's friend Jayanthi. We took so many beautiful pictures, including some of some men who were climbing the side of a very snowy mountain. I was really impressed by their abilities until I realized that they were all drinking out of a flask. This means that their common sense was deteriorating by the second, and I didn't want to be around when one of them plummeted to his snowy death so we left.
3. Going to a Meadery (Mead is honey-wine), and two Breweries and only spending six dollars.
4. Eating at Casa Bonita, Denver's very own super-crappy theme park-ish Mexican themed restaurant. Here is a video that comes close to capturing the Casa Bonita experience, but really doesn't do it the justice it deserves:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnHBE9PFgoM
5. Going to a drag show! The first performer we saw frightened me a little, as I felt like he/she was defying laws of human anatomy with the outfit she was wearing (which was basically underwear and pasties). When I asked Rusty how in the world she was able to pull that off he replied, "painfully." But the evening soon took a turn for the EXTRAORDINARY because we met MISS NINA FLOWERS, First Runner Up from Ru Paul's Drag Race! She is approximately 1000 times better than me at makeup, and 40 times better than me at dancing.
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3375/3265541273_d2a0c075ee.jpg
My only regret regarding my trip to Colorado is that I left a pair of pants and a shirt in Rusty's washing machine, which were covered in soup do to an unfortunate incident involving a spoon and a bread bowl over lunch. Needless to say, that event did not make the highlights.
Here are some of the highlights of the trip:
1. Being introduced to Rusty's friend Trev Mac. Trev Mac said, "Robin isn't just gorgeous...she's GOOOORGEOUS!" (high-pitched, squealing noise). I think we are soul mates.
2. Driving through the mountains of Boulder with Rusty's friend Jayanthi. We took so many beautiful pictures, including some of some men who were climbing the side of a very snowy mountain. I was really impressed by their abilities until I realized that they were all drinking out of a flask. This means that their common sense was deteriorating by the second, and I didn't want to be around when one of them plummeted to his snowy death so we left.
3. Going to a Meadery (Mead is honey-wine), and two Breweries and only spending six dollars.
4. Eating at Casa Bonita, Denver's very own super-crappy theme park-ish Mexican themed restaurant. Here is a video that comes close to capturing the Casa Bonita experience, but really doesn't do it the justice it deserves:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnHBE9PFgoM
5. Going to a drag show! The first performer we saw frightened me a little, as I felt like he/she was defying laws of human anatomy with the outfit she was wearing (which was basically underwear and pasties). When I asked Rusty how in the world she was able to pull that off he replied, "painfully." But the evening soon took a turn for the EXTRAORDINARY because we met MISS NINA FLOWERS, First Runner Up from Ru Paul's Drag Race! She is approximately 1000 times better than me at makeup, and 40 times better than me at dancing.
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3375/3265541273_d2a0c075ee.jpg
My only regret regarding my trip to Colorado is that I left a pair of pants and a shirt in Rusty's washing machine, which were covered in soup do to an unfortunate incident involving a spoon and a bread bowl over lunch. Needless to say, that event did not make the highlights.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Epic Fail At Bed Bath and Beyond
Today I had big plans to buy an iron. After dealing with wrinkly clothes for, oh, I don't know...(let's see, I moved out of my parents' house at 17, I'm now 24...carry the two...) for SEVEN YEARS, I finally took one more step towards legitimate adulthood and set out to buy an iron.
*Sigh* I went into Bed Bath and Beyond to buy one, single iron. $180 and two shopping bags full later, I left the store feeling like I had just had an out of body experience. How had this just happened? How had I spent nearly two hundred dollars at Bed Bath and Beyond when all I really wanted was an iron?
I did a quick inventory of all the things I bought, and I was relieved to find out that I hadn't bought anything that I didn't necessarily need. Soap, razors, dish towels, and...POT-HOLDERS. That was it! Those damn pot-holders, while not solely responsible for my epic fail, had played a large roll in my home store demise.
I have also gone for a good two months without a pot-holder in my home. I have been using towels, several wads of paper towels, and even my own clothing upon occasion to remove things from the oven. After a near disaster involving some baked salmon I also made a mental note to buy some pot-holders, a memory that was jogged while I was in my semi-comatose state at Bed Bath and Beyond.
When I made the decision to buy the pot-holders in addition to the iron I didn't have very stringent criteria. Color? Don't care. Shape? Don't care. Cost? CARE!
It was like finding a damn needle in a haystack trying to find an affordable pot-holder in that money pit. They had so many pot-holders, all of which claimed to do something else in addition to their intended function. Pot-holder/dish towel? Not interested. Decorative pot-holder? I'll pass. Pot-holder that also doubles as a cocktail dress? No thank you (I didn't actually find one like that, but I felt like I might have if I had continued to search). Really, all I wanted was a piece of fabric that would allow me to remove a hot dish from the oven and emerge with all five fingers still attached to my hand. Anything additional was not necessary.
I eventually found those elusive pot-holders (for ten bucks a pop, jerks) and then a salesman tried to sell me a $70 iron. Ha! Boy was he screwed from the beginning. I asked him if the iron could travel through time, and when he told me no I said, "Well, then I am NOT interested!"
*Sigh* I went into Bed Bath and Beyond to buy one, single iron. $180 and two shopping bags full later, I left the store feeling like I had just had an out of body experience. How had this just happened? How had I spent nearly two hundred dollars at Bed Bath and Beyond when all I really wanted was an iron?
I did a quick inventory of all the things I bought, and I was relieved to find out that I hadn't bought anything that I didn't necessarily need. Soap, razors, dish towels, and...POT-HOLDERS. That was it! Those damn pot-holders, while not solely responsible for my epic fail, had played a large roll in my home store demise.
I have also gone for a good two months without a pot-holder in my home. I have been using towels, several wads of paper towels, and even my own clothing upon occasion to remove things from the oven. After a near disaster involving some baked salmon I also made a mental note to buy some pot-holders, a memory that was jogged while I was in my semi-comatose state at Bed Bath and Beyond.
When I made the decision to buy the pot-holders in addition to the iron I didn't have very stringent criteria. Color? Don't care. Shape? Don't care. Cost? CARE!
It was like finding a damn needle in a haystack trying to find an affordable pot-holder in that money pit. They had so many pot-holders, all of which claimed to do something else in addition to their intended function. Pot-holder/dish towel? Not interested. Decorative pot-holder? I'll pass. Pot-holder that also doubles as a cocktail dress? No thank you (I didn't actually find one like that, but I felt like I might have if I had continued to search). Really, all I wanted was a piece of fabric that would allow me to remove a hot dish from the oven and emerge with all five fingers still attached to my hand. Anything additional was not necessary.
I eventually found those elusive pot-holders (for ten bucks a pop, jerks) and then a salesman tried to sell me a $70 iron. Ha! Boy was he screwed from the beginning. I asked him if the iron could travel through time, and when he told me no I said, "Well, then I am NOT interested!"
Sunday, March 22, 2009
My Uncle's Wake
My Uncle Rudy passed away last week, and while it wasn't a complete surprise (he had been pretty sick) it is still so sad for everyone in our family. However, my family is not one for funerals; instead, we have wakes. That means instead of formally going to a church after someone passes away, we go to someone's house, barbecue, and drink boxed wine.
While I was attending my uncle's wake yesterday these are some of the statements that I overheard:
My father: "Oh, yeah, Johnny's old wife. Jean, Jean, The Adultery Machine."
My uncle: "She was kind of loose, wasn't she?"
My cousin: "Okay, who else wants to see the new baby's webbed toes while his sock is still off?"
(During a portion of the wake where some of my cousins had removed their shirts to compare their various tattoos)
Me: "Umm, Jesse, is that a swastika tattooed on your middle finger?"
Cousin Jesse: "Yeah."
Me: "That is disgusting. You need to get that covered up with something else."
Cousin Jesse: "I will! I just need to find someone who will laser it off for cheap!"
There was also a portion of the afternoon where one of my uncles revealed to some of my cousins and I a sampling of the XXX porn he has stored on his cell phone. He thought it was funny, but I'm pretty sure we are all scarred for life.
RIP Uncle Rudy! At least you went out in style!
While I was attending my uncle's wake yesterday these are some of the statements that I overheard:
My father: "Oh, yeah, Johnny's old wife. Jean, Jean, The Adultery Machine."
My uncle: "She was kind of loose, wasn't she?"
My cousin: "Okay, who else wants to see the new baby's webbed toes while his sock is still off?"
(During a portion of the wake where some of my cousins had removed their shirts to compare their various tattoos)
Me: "Umm, Jesse, is that a swastika tattooed on your middle finger?"
Cousin Jesse: "Yeah."
Me: "That is disgusting. You need to get that covered up with something else."
Cousin Jesse: "I will! I just need to find someone who will laser it off for cheap!"
There was also a portion of the afternoon where one of my uncles revealed to some of my cousins and I a sampling of the XXX porn he has stored on his cell phone. He thought it was funny, but I'm pretty sure we are all scarred for life.
RIP Uncle Rudy! At least you went out in style!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Jazz Taxi
Riding in a taxi cab in San Francisco is always a gamble, and this fact has never been more clear than before this evening, when I was driven home by a cabby who brought multi-tasking to a whole new level.
My roommate Alyssa and I climbed into a cab, and she immediately began hyperventilating and gasping out the words, "FLUTE! FLUTE!" over and over again. At first I didn't think much of it, as she had been drinking for a good five hours. I figured flute hallucinations must be pretty par for the course after an all day binge, but I then heard a medley of wind-instrument notes erupt from the front seat. Being seated behind the driver, I had to crane my neck to see what was creating the noise from the front of the car. I peeked over the driver's shoulder and: BEHOLD! The cabby was steering the car through the crowded streets of San Francisco with his KNEES. Normally, I would consider this to be a silly maneuver, as drivers typically have at least one free hand to steer their vehicles. However, it quickly became evident that this cabby had no choice but to use his lower half to steer his car, as both of his arms were occupied with a CLARINET (Apparently, after a few drinks clarinets are interchangeable with flutes). That is correct: The cabby was playing a clarinet while flying down Van Ness and steering with his knees.
For reasons that I am still trying to reconcile, my immediate reaction was not of fear, or horror, or even anger, but rather of intrigue. I began asking the driver about his clarinet, and even wondered if he would take requests. He attempted to play a few little "ditties" on his horn, none of which I really recognized.
It was then that our driver revealed that not only was he a master multi-tasker, but that he also let his dog drive his cab upon occasion. (I am still not clear if the dog also plays an instrument while behind the wheel). Additionally, this man passed out a business card (which features the aforementioned dog at the wheel of a cab) with his phone number and WEBSITE. Yes. Homeboy has his own website. I encourage everyone to check it out for themselves at www.taxijazz.com. Here are just a few of the highlights I have come across:
1. Under the title "Taxidriver Therapist," "Resolving the Trouble with Society............"
2. The story of how the Jazz Taxi came to be: "Out of nowhere I ended up owning a fleet of taxi cabs--my lifelong dream. Out of nothing--Because while I had a gunshot wound in one hand; the other hand had the tendons severed when I crushed a Coke bottle on the assailants face. With both of my hands wrapped up--and I had also been hit in the head with a bat--I was understandably not in good shape to look for a job."
Truly, these two examples are just the TIP of the iceberg, and I encourage everyone to go check this out for themselves; it is too good to be made up.
My roommate Alyssa and I climbed into a cab, and she immediately began hyperventilating and gasping out the words, "FLUTE! FLUTE!" over and over again. At first I didn't think much of it, as she had been drinking for a good five hours. I figured flute hallucinations must be pretty par for the course after an all day binge, but I then heard a medley of wind-instrument notes erupt from the front seat. Being seated behind the driver, I had to crane my neck to see what was creating the noise from the front of the car. I peeked over the driver's shoulder and: BEHOLD! The cabby was steering the car through the crowded streets of San Francisco with his KNEES. Normally, I would consider this to be a silly maneuver, as drivers typically have at least one free hand to steer their vehicles. However, it quickly became evident that this cabby had no choice but to use his lower half to steer his car, as both of his arms were occupied with a CLARINET (Apparently, after a few drinks clarinets are interchangeable with flutes). That is correct: The cabby was playing a clarinet while flying down Van Ness and steering with his knees.
For reasons that I am still trying to reconcile, my immediate reaction was not of fear, or horror, or even anger, but rather of intrigue. I began asking the driver about his clarinet, and even wondered if he would take requests. He attempted to play a few little "ditties" on his horn, none of which I really recognized.
It was then that our driver revealed that not only was he a master multi-tasker, but that he also let his dog drive his cab upon occasion. (I am still not clear if the dog also plays an instrument while behind the wheel). Additionally, this man passed out a business card (which features the aforementioned dog at the wheel of a cab) with his phone number and WEBSITE. Yes. Homeboy has his own website. I encourage everyone to check it out for themselves at www.taxijazz.com. Here are just a few of the highlights I have come across:
1. Under the title "Taxidriver Therapist," "Resolving the Trouble with Society............"
2. The story of how the Jazz Taxi came to be: "Out of nowhere I ended up owning a fleet of taxi cabs--my lifelong dream. Out of nothing--Because while I had a gunshot wound in one hand; the other hand had the tendons severed when I crushed a Coke bottle on the assailants face. With both of my hands wrapped up--and I had also been hit in the head with a bat--I was understandably not in good shape to look for a job."
Truly, these two examples are just the TIP of the iceberg, and I encourage everyone to go check this out for themselves; it is too good to be made up.
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